


that boy is a monster

by prosodiical



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-11 02:41:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5610820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosodiical/pseuds/prosodiical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal's held on to Will's heart for so long it belongs there, beating in his chest, nestled behind ribs and muscle and sinew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	that boy is a monster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lostinthefire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinthefire/gifts).



> Warnings for cannibalism/light vore, some gore, etc.

Jack comes to Will in the morning, breath frosting in the air, and Will looks up from the boat motor he's fiddling with, trying to get working once again. "Hannibal's gone," he says, without pretence, and Will huffs a sigh into the air and watches the mist fade away.

"Jack," he says. "I'm done."

"Your medical records," Jack says. "You gave it to him, didn't you? Your heart?" Will meets his gaze and Jack looks like he wants to understand, beyond the judgement Will can already see forming behind his dark eyes. Jack should know, Will thinks, what it's like to have your heart ripped from your chest; Bella's must now sit cold and dead behind Jack's ribs while his own heart is buried six feet underground.

"He took it," Will says, instead. "Even steven."

"He didn't give you his," Jack counters, and Will thinks of the softness of Hannibal's gaze over one last dinner, the meat, red and lush and bloody, flavored with the lightest touches of spice and herb. Will thinks of the way Hannibal looked at him then, the way Hannibal had always looked at him, and most of all the feeling of it: the tenderness of muscle under his teeth, the flush of knowledge and the warmth quietly sliding into his chest, settling calm and steady beside his own beating heart. "Are you going to look for him?"

"Jack," Will says, "I'm done with the FBI. Anything else..." He trails off. "It's done, now. Hannibal's gone."

Will's going to look for him, of course. Hannibal's still keeping his heart close.

 

Will follows his heart to Europe, to a corpse dressed as a valentine and a man whose heart is being eaten by snails, the slow tortuous pain of someone who deserves it. Will wanders Hannibal's ancestral home feeling Hannibal's own nostalgia like a memory, the strange warmth from the remnants of Hannibal's heart.

When they find each other it's beautiful and terrible and Will's heart betrays him, racing, pounding in Hannibal's chest even as he reaches for a knife. Hannibal notices, and he's quicker on the draw than Will's own hesitation; Will goes down, and wakes to a nightmare.

 

After all the mess that follows Will still feels his heart in Hannibal's chest, nestled behind muscles and ribs and sinew, but he won't give in to the want choking wordless in his chest, and Hannibal's forgiveness, Hannibal's overtures fall to the ground and shatter like the teacup they lost so long ago. It's a loss that feels like a lump in his throat, a sympathetic empty ache where his heart used to be when Hannibal finally leaves him to loneliness and quiet, though Will can guess at what he'll do next. He dozes until the sirens are sounding outside his windows, and then slowly he limps out of bed, head still aching and spinning, and heads for the front door.

He stops at the kitchen. He hadn't expected it for the way he still has a sense of Hannibal, the tight uncertain triumph of his last act of freedom now lost, but there it is: Will's heart, red and quietly beating, sitting on a plate. It's an offering and an apology and Will takes the knife beside it, dark with blood, and brings it to his scarred, puckered skin.

Having his heart back doesn't complete him, doesn't fill the emptiness and the longing like everything says it would. Will notices too late there's a bite taken from one side, and knows where it is as he watches Hannibal being led away; one last victory, but Will will let it stand. It seems only fitting that Hannibal has consumed some of Will's heart, to keep it within him forever. After all, Will has something of Hannibal's, too.

 

And perhaps they would have stayed with a piece of each other forever, Will with his heart and Hannibal with none, but when the Red Dragon comes calling Will knows that isn't how it will end. It's a gift and a relief when he's panting and bleeding and dying and it's over; Will brings Hannibal's hand to his chest and says, "Take it. It's yours."

Hannibal's fingers dig into healed scars, the same grooves worn from Will's betrayal but Hannibal's expression, this time, is radiant. "Will," he says, and Will smiles and can feel the blood pounding through his veins, the draw of his heart to complete the missing piece.

"This is how it should be," Will says, through a mouthful of blood, and Hannibal reaches into his chest and takes. Will's heart is worn and scarred, bleeding like them both onto the concrete, and Will closes his eyes and leans forward as Hannibal presses his lips, bloody and hungry, into Will's hair, as Hannibal's fingers clutch at Will's heart like a lifeline. "Go on," Will says, but Hannibal gives it back.

"You," Hannibal says, and brings Will's hands to his own empty chest, quiet and still. "You must."

Will looks at Hannibal's greedy, hungry mouth, those teeth that tear and consume behind his lips covered in a dead man's blood and then meets his gaze, entirely raptuous; Will swallows as he brings Dolarhyde's knife to Hannibal's chest and cuts him open, a wide gaping hole where no heart except his has ever been. "I'm sorry," Will whispers, as he presses in his heart, beating like a lie, "It's - it's so beautiful."

Hannibal says, "Will," and Will presses his ear to Hannibal's chest to hear the sound of his heart, to feel the pulse of it, muscles contracting beneath his fingers, and then - he pushes.

They fall.


End file.
